


Some Call Them Brothers

by hopeisnotcrazy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dean - Freeform, Impala, Poetry, Sam - Freeform, fan poem, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3669390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeisnotcrazy/pseuds/hopeisnotcrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The locals' reactions to a tired Sam and Dean as the boys stop for a drink at a roadside bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Call Them Brothers

See those two boys over there?  
“Brothers,” some say, as if that makes a difference.  
See those two brothers?  
They don’t come by here often.  
I’ve only ever seen them once or twice myself.  
They never stay in one town for long, they drift.  
Rumor has it that the beaten up Impala in the parking lot belongs to them,  
Although no one knows for sure,  
Because no one ever sees them come and go from town to town.

See those two brothers over there?  
The taller one- he’s the youngest.  
He still wears his hair in the same childish halo, and  
If you watch closely he has a pigeon-toed step.  
The college kid, the Boy King.  
He nurses the same beer all night,  
Unlike the greed in his eyes when he pressed his lips to the vein of a demon.  
Sometimes when it’s quiet he can still hear that foreign blood racing inside of him.  
The Boy King, the college kid.  
Why wear your family’s crest?

Those two brothers over there-  
See the one with stars in his eyes?  
That’s the oldest, the big brother.  
Look how different he is from the first time he sat on that stool.  
All you can recognize now is his father’s jacket-  
And the way he drinks his whiskey, like it’s mother’s milk.  
The Righteous Man, for better or worse,  
Was chosen by the angels, lifted from damnation.  
It doesn’t matter.  
The blood he spilled, his own or not, has since been washed away  
By liquor.  
For better or worse, the Righteous Man.  
Is this why he wears his father’s jacket?

“They saved the world,” an old woman whispers.  
We all scoff, of course. Those two boys?  
But she insists, tells the story in rambling sentences, every night, all night long.  
Pretty bad for business.  
Pretty bad for tips, to tell you the truth.  
But one night I left the bar early and saw that Impala sitting in the parking lot.  
I couldn’t resist- I went up to the window and looked, only to see a stack of old cassette tapes,  
A silver flask,  
And a prayer.

Those boys- “brothers,” some say- don’t come around here anymore.  
Every time I serve scotch I think of the Righteous Man.  
And every time someone hustles pool I think of the college kid, the Boy King.  
And that same old woman still sits in the corner and rambles her story.  
Everybody thinks she’s insane.


End file.
